Blue Smoke Ghost

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Blue Smoke Ghost


A matchbox scratch

A flare of light

The smell of sulphur


A yellow patch

Above his chair

On the ceiling


A row of pipes

Hung in a rack

Saliva drips


The suck

And suck

And suck on shank


Red glow

In the dusk

On a back step


The aroma

Of spices

In the ready-rub



Grey ash

From the chamber



Empty bowl

On the wall


The cough

The cough

The cough that killed him


Blue spiral

Of smoke

Over a memory


The ghost

In that place

By the fire


My father’s



fatherkillerpipe smokingsimple pleasuresmoketobacco

◄ Lady Liberty Weeps

Honourable ►


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Mon 18th Jul 2016 11:14

A real classic Ian. I am a pipesmoker (I love that term inveterate which sometimes goes with it by the way). Those who smoke today are treated as pariahs - a whole other subject. I love the brevity and succinctness of this . It conveys the comfort and the habit perfectly. (Don't smoke indoors incidentally).


<Deleted User> (13762)

Fri 15th Jul 2016 21:14

A yellow patch
Above his chair
On the ceiling

I remember that well Ian. My father died when I was 7, he was 38 - the nicotine stain above his armchair - heart attack.

Didn't stop me from smoking though - daft innit - stopped a good while ago I should add.

Blue spiral
Of smoke
Over a memory

Perhaps not the best of memories for me - but nonetheless you have written this poem in such a way to evoke those memories so clearly - which is a fine achievement. Thanks for posting.

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